I don't think you really know a person until you see what they do with power.

Not power in the obvious sense.
Not fame or wealth.

I mean influence.

The ability to interrupt.
To correct.
To dominate.
To win the argument.

Most of us carry some measure of leverage in nearly every room we enter.

And often, we use it.

I've noticed something uncomfortable about myself.

When I don't pray consistently, my reactions speed up.

I interrupt more.
I rehearse what I'm going to say instead of listening.
I clarify my position too quickly.
I justify sharpness as conviction.

In the moment, it doesn't feel like aggression.

It feels like being right.

But when I've been praying consistently, there's space.

Space between feeling and reaction.
Between criticism and defense.
Between impulse and action.

And in that space, restraint becomes possible.

Restraint isn't weakness.
It isn't passivity.
It isn't avoidance.

Restraint is strength that doesn't need to prove itself.

The ability to not react when you could.
To not escalate when you're able.
To not dominate when you have the leverage.

That kind of restraint is rare.

You can feel it in someone.

They don't rush to speak.
They don't weaponize intelligence.
They don't use authority to secure ego.
They don't need the last word.

That last one reveals more than we like to admit.

Prayer has a way of confronting it.

When I pray honestly, I'm reminded that I'm not the final authority in the room.

That I answer to Someone greater.
That I don't need to secure my position in every conversation.

Over time, that reminder changes how I carry influence.

Restraint grows as ego shrinks.

And ego shrinks in the presence of God.

Not all at once.
Not dramatically.

Gradually.

Through return.

Without restraint:

Courage becomes aggression.
Discernment becomes superiority.
Conviction becomes control.

Restraint protects the other marks.

It makes strength safe.

I've failed here more times than I want to admit.

Sent the email too quickly.
Spoke too sharply.
Pressed too hard.
Won the argument and lost the room.

Those moments expose something in me.

A need to assert.
A need to be right.

Prayer doesn't erase that overnight.

But it exposes it.

And exposure is the beginning of formation.

Restraint is not suppression.
It is submission.

Suppression hides what is inside.
Submission places it under something greater.

Submission of ego.
Submission of impulse.
Submission of the need to win.

Because what is unsubmitted will eventually demand control.

And in a culture that rewards reaction, restraint feels almost rebellious.

But restraint is not silence.

It is strength under authority.

One of the clearest marks of a life shaped by prayer.